Shadow
by Sacred Demise
Summary: Draco looked up into the eyes of his father, his persecutor, his death. He knew this was it. He was going to die.


Shadow  
  
by Arwen Sauron  
  
A/N: This story contains graphic content and isn't reccomended for the faint of heart. Don't say I didn't warn you...  
  
R/R please. I'd definitely appreciate it.   
  
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Draco lay motionless on the stone floor that had once been a piercing cold, but had slowly faded to a bitter warmth as his days lying on it increased. It seemed as if all of his body warmth had preceded to rest in the cold of the gray stone that now ran through his veins, like sharp daggers formed from ice. He looked over to his companion, resting opposite him on the dark wall. It's movement had decreased just as his had. He supposed it had arrived around the same time he had, although he couldn't quite remember. The dark shapes that together formed it's body were hard to make out in the shadows of the dungeon. The small torches that occupied the room weren't enough to pinpoint any definite features of the character but atleast he didn't have to feel alone, even if he couldn't see his his company.  
  
Draco realized he had been staring and quickly moved his gaze to the darkness that was descended upon by the high ceilings. He wished he could see the ceiling. He wondered what it looked like. Was it the same as the rest of the dungeon, just endless stone and cold? Or maybe there was something else. Maybe the ceiling was holding the beauty that was with-held in the four walls that rest on the floor, while at the same time holding up the ceiling.   
  
He glanced over at the figure lying collateral him. Assuming it was a male, should he talk to him? Draco opened his mouth to speak, his lips splitting in agony as the fragile skin was stretched for the first time in days. Assuming that this had hurt, he raised his cold fingers to his mouth and ran them along the torn skin. It felt dry and blistered, like they had gotten when he had played in the snow as a small child. As he removed his fingers from the broken skin he could feel something warm on his finger tips. He squinted his eyes to try and see what it could be, but after no luck, placed his fingers in his mouth to wash off the substance. He paused for a moment but then removed his fingers, scraping his sore lips in the process. He savored the taste in his mouth. It was the only thing that had entered his body in what seemed like ages, let the occasional shards of glass he rolled onto, which were left behind by the figures who had retreated to the dungeon on occasion to beat him.   
  
His eyes widened in horror at the thought of those horrid characters who had left him with nothing but countless bruises and a hole in his side, of which the stench had become unbearable. Every so often a rat would leave its dark corner to come and pick at the rotting flesh that was exposed to the stale air. He didn't bother to fend them off anymore. He didn't have the strength left in his body to do much of anything. His mind returned to his fingers that lay resting on his chin and then to the bitter taste that had begun to form in his mouth. It was as if his mouth had been washed with the water from the ocean. He was beginning to wish he hadn't tried the liquid substance that had been on his fingers.   
  
As he began to ponder what he had been doing before he had been drawn to the state of his torn lips, he remembered that he had meant to speak to the figure parallel him.   
  
His mouth opened to expose a voice he could hardly recognize as his own. It was hoarse and barely distinguishable from the sound of the trees that had once scraped violently against his window. He hoped he didn't scare his company with his dreadful state, but he was sure they would understand, seeing as they had been down here as long as himself.  
  
He waited in cold silence for a response, but one didn't come. Maybe they hadn't heard him. He opened his mouth, withdrawing the words with every ounce of strength he had left.  
  
"Hello. My name is Draco Malfoy" he paused for a moment, contemplating on what to say, "May I ask why you are in the dungeon?"  
  
He lay there for what seemed like hours, and still no response. They couldn't be dead could they? They must be fine. Maybe they are asleep. Yes, thats it. He placed his palms on the icy floor, sending a chill up his spine. He pushed forward with all his strength, and raised his back halfway off the ground, until letting it fall back down, his head striking vehemently against the stone. It felt as if his skull had split in half. His head started to pound wildly, as if it would explode at any given moment. He lay moaning in agony, his hands having shot to his head, and holding onto his skull as if expecting it to fall off. His body rolled sideways, and he found himself facing the person on the other side of the dungeon. He lay in question for a moment and then rendered the fact that the character must be mocking him.   
  
The being lay appearing to have their hands clutching their head, and their knees drawn up to their stomach. Just as he was. He couldn't believe it. He was in the midst of pain, and this person thought it to be funny. Draco lay in disbelief for a moment but then started to settle down. He figured they were just trying to make light of things.   
  
"Well, atleast someone has a sense of humor" Draco said, hoping to get a response from his company.  
  
After getting no reply, not even a hint of laughter, Draco spoke again.  
  
"Bad joke, sorry. I have to admit I was a little shocked when I saw you mimicking me, but then I realized it was all in good fun. It was quite funny, come to think of it."   
  
Deciding that he most likely wasn't going to get a response with the way things were going, Draco proceeded his attempts to sit up. He gathered up all his strength, and with a deep breath, heaved his upper body off of the ground. He sat motionless for a few moments, his ribs searing with pain as he gasped for breath. Why had something so simple as sitting up, suddenly become so difficult as to take his breath away?  
  
He looked over at the faint outline of the figure across from him, and looking forward to seeing him up close, continued to try and rise to his feet. He leaned forward and pushed himself onto his knees. His legs had become tight and bursts of pain shot through them as his body weight was shifted to his lower body. His chest heaved in and out as he placed his hands on the ground and slowly pushed himself up onto his legs. His legs had begun to burn and his muscles tightened with every movement. He began to wonder if he would be able to support himself, but was determined to meet the mysterious figure on the other side of the dungeon, so he put all his effort into remaining on his feet.   
  
"Looks like you had the same idea" smirked Draco as he noticed that the character had also stood up.   
  
"Well, we could meet in the middle of the dungeon...you know, less work for both of us" Draco laughed hoarsely, at his own joke, but his companion didn't seem to find it funny, as the only thing heard was his own echo.  
  
Draco lifted his foot off the ground, and propelled it forward, bringing it back down onto a piece of sharp glass. He thought about howling in pain, but decided he would much rather reach the dark figure, so stifled his whimpers and proceeded to lift his other foot forward. In mid step, there was a loud crash and Draco looked around and was immediately knocked down onto the stone by the sudden burst of light that was streaming in the opened lead door. He lifted his arm up to shield his eyes, and could just barely make out three men starting towards him.   
  
Draco's memory was suddenly brought back to the last time he had seen these men. They had tortured him, taking turns in screaming "Crucio". His mind shot back to the surge of pain that had hammered through his body, his worst memories flooding his brain, and his body forced into the fetal position.  
  
He shot up and with sudden panic began to try and scoot back into a corner, hoping maybe he would be swallowed into the darkness.  
  
His legs scuffled furiously as the shrill laughter of the men filled the dungeon. As the men enclosed on him he could only think of one thing to do.  
  
He immediately began to shout uncontrollably, "Run! Get out while you can! They're going to kill us! Go! Save yourself!!"   
  
The laughter from the men began to increase. Draco attempted to kick one of the men near him, but only succeeded in causing them to explode in another fit of laughter. Draco's arms began to thrash wildly, as if he were blind and was searching for the source of danger.   
  
The tallest and fiercest of the men, had settled, towering over Draco. Draco looked up and met steel gray eyes. They sent a shiver up his body and seemed to freeze his blood. The man had long, seemingly silver hair that very well passed his shoulders. His skin was pale and looked as cold as ice.   
  
Why did this man look familiar? Who was he? Draco searched his thoughts frantically and then he remembered. This man...was his father.   
  
Now all three men were hovering over Draco, but the only one he could look at was his father. His father pulled out his wand, followed by the two other men. Draco watched in horror as his father lifted his wand and rested it just inches from Draco's chest.   
  
"This is your last chance. You can tell us what we want to know, or we can kill you" his father spat, not removing his gaze from Draco, "where is Harry Potter?"  
  
Draco immediately began to think back to three weeks earlier. It had been a year after his seventh and final year at Hogwarts. Harry and Hermione had shown up at Draco's mansion and pleaded with him for hours upon hours. Draco finally agreed and then they had left, with the baby cradled in Hermione's arms. Why they chose Draco, he didn't know, and he assumed that neither did they. But Draco Malfoy, had agreed to be the secret keeper for Harry and Hermione Potter.   
  
He had despised Harry, and his mudblood wife, but something made him do it. He couldn't tell them no. So now he was carrying the knowledge of the whereabouts of the Potters and he could just as easily tell his father where they were, and he would be saved. So why didn't he tell them?  
  
"We're not even going to bother with the Cruciatus Curse this time, boy. We're just going to flat out kill you. I'm giving you one more chance. Where is Harry Potter?"   
  
Draco looked up into the eyes of his father, his persecutor, his death. He knew this was it. He was going to die.   
  
"Foolish boy" snarled his father.  
  
Lucius Malfoy, raised his wand and opened his mouth to speak the last two words Draco would ever hear. And just as his father spoke the words, Draco looked over to see that the figure that once lingered on the wall, that Draco had wanted so bad to speak to, had gone.  
  
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Reviews please! I will love you so much if you review. If you review me, I'll review you. So please.   
  
A/N: If you did not understand this story, I pity you. But just so noone leaves with a false idea, there was no person in the dungeon with Draco, it was his shadow. But Draco didn't know that, seeing as countless times being hit with the Cruciatus curse and long amounts of time gone without light, proper human contact, and food might leave him a bit...funny. 


End file.
